


You're So Golden

by ifmia



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Arguments, Cliffhangers, Drinking, Fictional Religion & Theology, Happy Ending, Jealousy, M/M, Mentioned Stray Kids Ensemble, Mild Sexual Content, Misunderstandings, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pickpockets, Plot and Concept Based on The Road to El Dorado, Plot plot plot!!, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Thievery, endgame binsung, especially the romantic plot, not everyone tho :(, strays a bit from the movie tho
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:06:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24502069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifmia/pseuds/ifmia
Summary: The lives of Changbin and Jisung, two clever, struggling street tricksters, seem as though they could never in a million years intertwine with that of Hyunjin, a lonely and goodnatured boy living comfortably in the richest kingdom in the world. Conveniently, a kingdom whose existence is hidden to the rest of the world, and from whom the rest of the world is hidden.When trouble licks the heels of the spirited swindlers and grabs at the coattails of the dejected boy living in gold... as secrets are kept and lies are told... how will they come to rely on each other as they stray farther and farther from the beaten path?
Relationships: Han Jisung | Han/Seo Changbin, Hwang Hyunjin/Seo Changbin, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 14





	You're So Golden

**Author's Note:**

> To anyone reading this– Hello!!
> 
> You're So Golden has been in the works for quite some time. Even if literally only two people read this, I am proud of it, and I'm glad to have written it.
> 
> I love the irl bestfriend dynamics of Changbin and Jisung, and so I was inspired to write about them in a different context. If you haven't, I really encourage you to watch the 2000 Pixar movie "The Road to El Dorado." imo, it's a fun and exciting movie, someone wonderful showed it to me, and it's what this story is largely based off of. However, it's well worth noting that I have altered a lot from the movie, and added my own details and backstories. You DO NOT need to have watched the movie to read this story!!!
> 
> The title of the story is taken from Harry Styles' "Golden." A wonderful song, and quite fitting as you'll quickly notice. As for the chapter title, this is a lyric from "It's Tough to Be a God" in the fantastic soundtrack of The Road to El Dorado, written by none other than Elton John. 
> 
> Another important note!!!! This story contains PURELY FICTIONAL CHARACTERS, despite the obvious inspiration from Stray Kids' real personalities, as observed by someone who's just a fan. If you find it challenging to separate the irl members of Stray Kids from the characters in this story as I did while writing it, my story (and fanfiction in general!) is not for you.
> 
> Though it may seem unrelated: more important than any of this, regardless of when you're reading this, be it the day I post this or ten years in the future, is the ongoing fight for black lives. George Floyd, an innocent black man, was murdered by Minneapolis cops on May 25th– he was no where near the first and he will certainly not be the last. If you aren't black, educate yourself on black issues, listen to black people, never silence them or speak over them. If you are white, recognize the privilege that your skin color brings you. Racism thrives on our silence and failure to act. This affects all of us, and regardless of whether or not you live in the US, I urge you to be introspective and look into how your country looks at and treats its marginalized citizens. A link to find petitions and places to donate will be in the end notes. #BLM.
> 
> With that, I hope you love this story as much as I do! Have a lovely day, stay hydrated, wear a mask!
> 
> \---
> 
> ch.1 posted on: 06/02/20  
> ch.1 word count: 10,150
> 
> \---

⚘ ⚘ ⚘ ⚘ ⚘ ⚘ ⚘ ⚘

“Drop the bravery act, Hwang. I don’t have all fucking day.”

Hyunjin grimmaces as he’s met with a growl of spit to the face. If his hands weren’t bound tightly against his lower back, he might reach a palm up to wipe it off. More pressingly, if his hands weren’t bound tightly against his lower back, he might first slap the shit out of Kihyuk, _then_ wipe the saliva off his face. He might pummel the guy holding him against this table, he might reach for a candlestick and whack Kihyuk over the head. He might break the massive window, dump shards of glass on the two intruders. Maybe chuck them down the hillside for good measure. Launch a potted plant or two at them. Karate-kick their noses in. Hyunjin chuckles. He doesn’t even know any karate.

Besides, his dad would kill him if he found the place in shambles, no matter the context. And if Kihyuk kills him before his dad sees the damage? His dad would surely find a way to resurrect his body, scream at him, then kill him again for wrecking his house. Maybe avoiding the plants would mean avoiding capital punishment at his father’s hands. Maybe if he spared the drapes, too.

Hyunjin contemplates yelling for help. Sure, it’d be embarrassing, but it’s not like he’s taking the situation lightly. Hyunjin isn’t trying to be brave. Not that he minds if it’s coming across as such to Kihyuk.

However, his dad and older brother left the villa on official Aurum business not an hour ago. For all Hyunjin knows, the two might be out until morning, when the sun shows itself once again above the green canopies. He can stall, sure, but for the whole night? Hyunjin’s not sure if his head feels as though it’s slowly being smushed harder and harder into the table because, well, it is, or because the longer he’s kept like this the more the pain intensifies. Either way. Calling for his family? Out of the question.

It’s not as if his neighbors would hear him, either. Could you call them neighbors? The only places close enough to hear a man yelling from his third floor sunroom are, well, other rooms in the Hwang family’s massive villa. There may be other massive villas along the street, but Hyunjin thinks he’d be better off saving his breath. It’s funny. He has never thought that the considerable size of his villa could ever be detrimental to him in any way– yet now, he thinks that maybe living in a tightly packed apartment complex would serve him better.

But even in his head, Hyunjin doesn’t mean it. Not really, that is. The room in which he finds himself, face to table, is easily the only space in the whole of the Aurum in which Hyunjin feels like himself. Truly at home. Maybe it’s odd that he feels such disconnect to his city, considering the fact that the Aurum is all he has ever known, and all he ever will know. It's the city that Hyunjin grew up in, the city that _everyone_ grew up in. Hyunjin will die here, his ashes will be scattered in the same waters that he played in as a child. No one ever leaves, no one ever comes. Sure, there are rumors of life beyond the borders of the beautiful city, but who would want to leave the Aurum, anyway? Civilian homes are ancient and sturdy and stunningly beautiful, built of pure gold. Its people are faithful and kind, they lead their simple, happy lives first and foremost by the decree of the gods. The lush jungle that weaves through the city is ever-breathing, its canopies are bustling with excitement. The commanding sun beats down onto the waters of the Sacred Basin, in which children swim, fishermen and women fish. Music carries through the city like a soft breeze. People are content here.

So even if the idea _wasn't_ unheard of, who would _want_ to leave the Aurum?

Usually, Hyunjin might try to convince himself that he does love the Aurum. That he does look forward to a future here, that he does believe in the gods to whom he’s supposed to devote himself. Hyunjin thinks he’s entitled to say that it’s a bit challenging to see the positives at the moment, pinned against a table in his own safe haven, his life threatened by a familiar face.

Across the room from him, plastered across the windows that his head is forcibly positioned to stare at, are years and years worth of his paintings, each one with a common trait. They depict scenes of life as it exists in Hyunjin’s mind, life away from the utopian Aurum, life where Hyunjin can relate to people, where they don’t solemnly shake their head as he passes by, avoiding his eyes, muttering grievances for the beloved Old Botanist Hwang and of his failure of a son. Hyunjin used to lower his head when he heard what they said about him, but now he tends to meet their eyes, to watch the embarrassment on their faces when they know he’s listening.

If he were to take the layers of painted parchment and linen, his pride and joy, down from the glass of his window, Hyunjin would now be looking out at an undeniably magnificent view. The centerpiece of the city, the Sacred Basin, is on full display from almost every point in the area. It's an utterly massive body of water, but not so large that one can’t stand on the port that winds its way around the perimeter and clearly see the people going about their business on the opposite bank. On one end of the Basin stands an enormous archway– its wide, sturdy columns of solid gold plunging into the water and emerging eighty feet into the air to hold up the grand entrance to the city. Beyond the entryway, outside the city limit, the Basin narrows into a dark cavern, into which Hyunjin knows no one who has travelled. He’s always thought it odd that the Aurum brandishes such a grandiose, welcoming archway, when there’s never been anyone to welcome. Never been anyone to say goodbye to.

On all other sides of the Sacred Basin, the rich land climbs upward from the waterfront port, as if the whole of the Aurum has constant, unyielding focus on the water below. Citizens’ apartments and houses run around the Basin as if they were taking their seats in a green and gold amphitheater, the water down below an acclaimed pageant, a sight to behold. Almost every structure, no matter its owner rich or poor, is built of sturdy gold, which peeks around the lush jungle that climbs alongside the city. The Aurum feels to Hyunjin like it has been here since the beginning of time itself, always gleaming and boasting its wealth to an audience of none. It feels as though the pristine structures grew from the ground up, right alongside the jungle and its canopies that relax in the streets of the city. It feels like it has always been this way, and it always will be this way. Hyunjin can appreciate its beauty, but nothing ever changes. Nothing ever will change.

At the end opposite the columned entrance, further above the treetops than even the Hwang villa, stands the highest point in the whole of the city– the palace and temple grounds. Rising out of the crisp blue waters of the Sacred Basin is a magnificent golden staircase that climbs directly up to the temple. After about thirty stairs, a wide landing splits off to the both the left and right. Spacious platforms jut out on either side, diving down into the waters below like man-made cliffs, serving as both ceremonial looking points and as access to the temple for civilians, who more often than not come to pray from their homes rather than directly from the Basin. As one walks up the stairs, the leftmost platform is empty, usually save for a few people milling about. The platform to the right looks identical to its partner, aside from an enormous jelutong tree that soars into the sky, mostly referred to as the Tong Tree. To Hyunjin, its presence feels almost as central as that of the temple and the palace, and he doesn’t think that anyone alive today remembers a time when it didn’t stand strong, peering into the waters of the Basin with dignity.

Continuing up the staircase past the landing, one would climb about fifty more stairs until they arrived at the top. Greeting the citizens at the end of their climb is the massive stone temple doorway, ever-open and welcoming, with intricate designs carved into the rock whose meanings have been lost with time. Built around the temple, hugging it as a mother hugs her child, is the grand palace. The palace strives to reach the height of the temple, coming up just short but equally impressive, in Hyunjin’s opinion. Crafted with still more pure gold, the palace boasts to the skies, brags to the God of the Sun, shows off the generosity of the God of the Riches. The citizens cheer for the gods, the gods bestow them with wealth beyond comprehension.

But Hyunjin can’t see out the windows, he can’t see the comforting blue of the Sacred Basin, the shimmering gold of the city as it climbs up the hillside, the towering Tong Tree. Instead he sees his own creations of oil and gouache, of streets that _aren’t_ lined with gold. 

Hyunjin isn’t oblivious to Kihyuk’s reasoning behind picking him as his target. In fact, all of this would be much simpler if Hyunjin thought Kihyuk was a dim-witted moron. Kihyuk has clearly done his research, he’s someone to whom Hyunjin can’t feign an allegiance to his well-known family name. Hyunjin knows that the man is aware of his stance on the Aurum, how fed up he’s become; the dam that can’t hold for much longer. Hyunjin knows, because he can see the sentiment reflected in Kihyuk’s own eyes. If Hyunjin sees it in Kihyuk, then the man undoubtedly sees it in him.

Kihyuk turns his back to Hyunjin, strolls across the room towards the painting-covered windows. He stops in front of them like a tourist in a museum gallery, and Hyunjin feels his heart drop. But he doesn’t do what Hyunjin’s expecting from him. He reaches forward, slowly and carefully taking one off the window. It’s a recent one, done in oils, depicting a nondescript, gray city street. Hyunjin likes this painting. It’s gray, but it’s not dreary. It feels like the air is made of silk. In removing the painting from its place in the puzzle of imaginary snapshots, a beam of sunlight dives into the room, as though a pipe has been unclogged. Hyunjin’s face drowns in the gold of the nearing sunset, and he squints as he tries to keep his eyes trained on Kihyuk. Sunset is undoubtedly Hyunjin’s favorite time of day. When the sun sets, Sun and Riches work in harmony, and the Aurum glows all the more golden where it seemed impossible, and for just a bit, Hyunjin believes in everything.

Hyunjin remains silent as Kihyuk examines his oil painting for what feels like a few minutes. Then, he watches through the small space of uncovered window where the painting sat as the sun falls below the treeline. Hyunjin blinks, and tries to readjust his eyes to the suddenly dim light of the sunroom. Kihyuk carefully places the painting back in its place. Hyunjin furrows his brows. The side of his head pounds.

“If you help us,” Kihyuk murmurs, “do everything we say, don’t ask questions, simply get us this year’s Golden Pair, I can make sure there's something in it for you.” Hyunjin’s eyes narrow further.

“A free ticket out of the Aurum. Tempting?”

☼ ☼ ☼ TWO YEARS AGO, AROUND THREE THOUSAND MILES WEST ☼ ☼ ☼

Jisung shoves his way through the thick crowd. Everyone is in high spirits. The city is starting to feel like spring teetering on summer, and there isn’t a cloud in the sky. Jisung feels warm and alive, as if the energy of the crowd is finally seeping into his veins. They haven’t had a beautiful day like this since summer gave way to autumn, and the excitement in the air is almost tangible.

Jisung has missed this hustle and bustle. People in the plaza, dropping by the market vendors on their way home from work, little kids scuttling about at his feet. A man at the far end of the plaza plays an accordion and sings a melody, his hat on the ground inviting change from passersby. Jisung watches him bow his head to the ladies in their dresses, kindly nod at the men in their suits, and make subtle faces at the children, who squeal with laughter.

The plaza is lined with trees, which have been in bloom for about a week now. Pink petals soar through the air in the light breeze and settle on the ground, blanketing the cobblestone in pastel. Jisung can’t wipe the smile off his face. He would think he must look ridiculous if it weren’t for the mirrored expressions in the public around him.

But summer is on the doorstep, and it won’t be long before Jisung is bored by the heat of the sun anyway. Today, he’s here with a purpose: to find a specific street performer and convince him to let Jisung in on his act. How he’s going to do it Jisung isn’t quite sure– but first things first is to find the man.

This doesn’t prove to be all that hard, of course, as a growing crowd in the center of the plaza is almost always the work of his target.

Slightly in front of him, to Jisung’s right, stands a mother and her two children, all seemingly in good spirits. The woman has kind eyes, and dons an elaborate hat and matching parasol, both bedazzled with lace and fine purple roses, two pristine white feathers protruding from the bouquet on her head. She wears a petite dress, milky white with small red flowers and a red belt fastened tightly around her slim waist. Jisung glances at the woman’s children, a boy without a single crease in his trousers, and a girl without an ounce of grime under her little fingernails. Jisung doesn’t hate them. How could he? By no one’s decree, they were the luckier ones.

Hanging snug in her left elbow, their mother carries a purple handbag. Jisung swears it’s calling to him.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” calls a voice just yards in front of the heads blocking Jisung’s view. He has heard the rousing call numerous times before.

A quick practice round, then. A warm up, if you will.

Jisung zeroes in on the purse. It’s decently and fashionably large, not enough to be bulky, while still providing ample space to carry what Jisung supposes a mother of two might need on an afternoon excursion. Jisung spots an outside pocket, with a corner of the woman’s handkerchief dangling and catching the breeze. There, it’s easily accessible to her – what with the pollen in the springtime air – and presumably it’s not something that she’s too worried about losing. Jisung thinks this is fair enough. He’s certainly not interested in swiping her handkerchief, after all.

_“It seems that I have captured your attention thus far!” bellows the voice, cocky._

Jisung steps forward, swiftly sliding the handkerchief out from its compartment, rubbing the expensive cloth between his fingers for just a moment, before bumping into the same woman in front of him. Calculated. Reaching over her right shoulder, he lets the fabric fall from his fingers on her opposite side, and quickly exclaims an apology for nudging her, an apology that’s not imposing enough to garner the attention of others in the dense crowd. The woman looks annoyed for just a moment, before nodding her head and softening her eyes to the profusely apologizing boy.

“Oh!” says Jisung. “I think you dropped your handkerchief in my carelessness.” He begins to sidestep around her to pick it up, but a large man standing just in front of the woman makes doing so difficult.

_“For my final demonstration, I’m going to need a volunteer from our lovely audience...”_

The woman registers what Jisung has said, and looks at the ground to her right, then back at Jisung, who’s begun navigating the crowd to pick up the fallen cloth on her opposite side.

“Oh my, I’ve got it,” she says, swinging her bag over her shoulder and bending down to snatch the handkerchief, carefully adjusting her dress as she moves. Hanging from her shoulder, the bag rests in a perfect position against her back. In her distraction, it takes about a second for Jisung to reach a hand into the purple purse, his nimble fingers fishing for her wallet. Careful to inconspicuously shield the bag with his body, he comes up successful, and moves the acquired white leather wristlet from his right hand to left, before shoving it into the deep pocket of his pants.

_“You there in the suit! Yep, I’m talking to you sir, right in the front. Would you be willing to help me with my final trick?”_

The woman stands up and slides the handkerchief back into the pocket of her handbag. She nods a thank you to Jisung, then turns her attention back to the scene in front of them.

Success. Now for a better view.

Jisung pushes his way around until he stands at the edge of the circle that the audience has formed around the man in the center. The man isn't particularly tall, but the muscle in his arms makes up for the lack of intimidation in the height department. And he's attractive– he looks unbreakable, he moves with hubris. The man either grins like he’s in on a dangerous secret that no one else knows, or keeps his face stone, his eyebrows knitted and jaw set. Every time he watches the spectacle in front of him, Jisung finds himself starstruck. The man looks as though he was _made_ to be on a stage, like he was born to have every eye in the room trained on him and only him. He walks like his footsteps hold _power_ , like he summons the gods with each gesture of his hands. He looks to be slightly older than seventeen-year-old Jisung, but certainly not by much - the man can’t be older than eighteen – yet when Jisung watches his act unfold, he feels like a kid facing a giant.

The man flashes his mischievous grin at the crowd, then at the audience member who has been invited to join him for his final maneuver.

“Hello, sir. What’s your name?” the performer asks.

“Geunsoo,” responds the suited man, relaxed and content.

“Geunsoo,” he repeats, eyes twinkling. “I’m thrilled to have you joining me today.” Jisung takes a look around, and notes that the viewers seem to be enthralled, not to his surprise. There’s something about the man that draws in any crowd he stands in front of.

Jisung sizes up today’s volunteer. Geunsoo is undoubtedly well-off, he likely got distracted by the street show while making his way home from work, probably a desk job. A glimmering watch with an expensive-looking leather strap ticks away on his left wrist, and the pockets of his carefully ironed pants are puffy.

“Do you happen to have a coin on you, Geunsoo? Any coin.”

“I believe so...” he responds, and digs a thick wallet out from his back pocket. He retrieves a twenty-five cent piece, and loosely puts the wallet back in the pocket it emerged from.

“Perfect,” says the performer. “Now hold it in your left hand for me... just like that. Now. It’d be pretty shocking if I were to make this coin disappear, wouldn’t it?” Geunsoo happily nods in response. “Well,” he says, looking up to the audience, smiling. “I feel like you all might just have an idea of what I plan to do, then.” The crowd chuckles a bit, the air is light. Jisung’s eyes are glued.

Jisung has seen the coin trick quite a few times by now, and so it no longer shocks him as it does the rest of the audience when the performer seamlessly and impossibly maneuvers the coin to the volunteer’s shoulder, then to his opposite pocket, then to the top of his head, all with his sleight of hand. The man’s speech moves almost quicker than his hands, hypnotizing his victim, gaining his trust, cunning. He smiles, and the audience smiles with him, “ooh-ing” and “ahh-ing” at every correct moment.

“Quick!” he suddenly shouts, snapping his head to the sky and abruptly cutting off his words. A steadying hand holds the volunteer’s wrist. Every head in the vicinity follows him in tilting upwards, save for Jisung’s; a curious, anticipatory hush engulfing the crowd. The man’s eyes still trained on the sky, Jisung observes in awe as he slips Geunsoo’s watch off his wrist, blindly transferring the accessory to his other hand while keeping pressure on the now bare wrist. The watch moves to his inside pocket.

Half a beat passes, and the performer guides his volunteer’s hand to catch the coin, which appears to have miraculously fallen from the sky. On impact, the hand around Geunsoo’s left wrist falls away, _perfectly_ timed. The crowd erupts in cheers, and the performer takes a step back to applaud the man in the suit himself, who stands gleefully turning the coin between his fingers, enthused by the support of the crowd.

After a minute, the audience calms down, and the swindler shouts an animated goodnight, effectively sending everyone off on their way, moods lifted after a spectacular show– and for free, too! Well, free for all but one. He’ll find out soon enough, and probably assume that he left his watch at work, or at the cafe, or at the tavern. Next week, Geunsoo may become annoyed, and he may buy a new watch.

The mass of people that were gathered at the center of the plaza are now on the move. Time that seemed to slow during the show is abruptly thrown back on track, and Jisung suddenly remembers his goal. He takes off after the street performer, determined not to lose him.

Jisung rounds a corner into a gray alley behind a small cafe. It’s a few streets down from the busy plaza, and it gets most of its business around midday. But the sun will go down within the hour, and it’s already sunken below the line of the shops and buildings in the center of town. It may have been a nice day, but it’s not summer quite yet, and Jisung can feel the breeze on his chest through his thin tunic. Sitting on some crates in the alley is just the man Jisung needs, counting through golden coins on his lap. He feels his heart begin to race.

How long has it been since Jisung started following this guy around? What if he just tells him to piss off? Is Jisung being creepy?

The head leaning against the wall of the cafe snaps up, and meets Jisung’s eyes. The man’s hands instantly still, and Jisung stops walking. The guy somehow looks smaller now, as though sitting in front of Jisung is a whole different person than the one on “stage.” Jisung suddenly sees in front of him a boy like himself – unsure and fearful, somewhere behind his dark eyes – which look at Jisung up and down, sizing him up. Jisung is almost taken aback. He wasn't expecting this. He feels like his feet are sinking into the cobblestone street.

He’s considering turning around, when the man on the crate sits back again and chuckles. The small boy is disappearing before his eyes.

“Hey,” he says. “I know you.” With that, Jisung thinks he might fall through the ground altogether. He forces himself to hold the performer’s gaze.

“You’ve shown up to, like, all my shows, huh? I have an aficionado?” He laughs, and Jisung feels like his throat is closing up. He wipes his hands on his pants, and meekly replies, “Yeah. You’re incredible.” He wants to slap himself.

The guy hums, seemingly oblivious to Jisung's internal struggle, and returns to counting the money. The watch that he stole sits next to him, and under it is a wallet, that of a wealthy man by the looks of it. Jisung suddenly recognizes it as the very same wallet from which the man in the suit, Geunsoo, plucked a coin to use for the final demonstration.

“Wait a minute,” Jisung starts. “The watch _and_ the wallet?”

The man proudly grins up at him, a bit more of the haughtiness falling away. “It seems you should have been just a little more perceptive, then,” he teases. Jisung is shocked, and supposes the guy is right.

“What’s your name, my loyal disciple?”

“Jisung. What’s yours?” The man slowly raises his eyes.

“Changbin. What do you need from me, kid? I get the feeling that you're not here to rat me out.” The man– Changbin– stands up to meet him, shoving the stolen valuables in his pockets.

What does Jisung need from him? The big question. Jisung supposes he hasn’t even figured out the answer for himself yet. Would it be creepy for Jisung to say that he knew from the moment he came across the street performer, standing with confidence as he takes what he wants from people while simultaneously gaining their respect, that he wanted to reach that same level? Truth be told, Jisung is tired of struggling to get by, putting in with everything he has and getting close to nothing out. He _longs_ to experience the ecstasy that Changbin must feel when masses of people whoop and cheer for him after he successfully chips away at their wealth from under their noses. Jisung wants an adventure, and from what he can tell, Changbin _lives_ an adventure.

“I’m bored of pickpocketing,” says Jisung. He's gained his composure now. “And I’m good at it, and I want something more. More money, more fun, anything. You fascinate me, and I want to help you.”

Changbin seems to think over his application. Jisung feels like the man is boring holes into his face. Calculating.

“Hang around me for a bit. To be honest, I’ve also been itching to do something more. Might be fun, make shit more interesting. Stir the pot a bit.” Suddenly, Changbin’s eyes light up, and he adds, “Successfully pickpocket me within the next week and you’re in.”

“Deal.”

¤ ¤ ¤ PRESENT DAY, TWO YEARS LATER ¤ ¤ ¤

“How are we doing?” Jisung asks. He’s splayed himself out across the floor of their one-room studio apartment, which is only a few streets away from the plaza. Though the two have much to complain about the place, it sits on top of a bakery; and the smell of the morning's fresh bread, muffins, and coffee has fully seeped into the walls of their small home. Changbin can hear Jisung’s stomach growl from across the room. He frowns.

“Not so great, Ji,” he says, cross-legged from his mattress, a worryingly small amount of coins scattered about his tattered blanket. “We should go out tonight and stock up a bit.” Jisung groans at the ceiling. Changbin can’t say he feels any differently. The scent of the bakery, while objectively nice, has become almost offensive to his empty stomach. Changbin isn’t sure whether Jisung has begun to lose his chubby, teenager cheeks because he’s growing up, or because he can’t remember the last time the two truly had enough to eat on their own accord.

“The Golden Ticket?” asks Jisung.

“Yeah. Seungmin can get us in. It’s gonna be fucking packed tonight.” Changbin heaves himself off the mattress, strolling towards the open window. “Get your beauty sleep now, hot-stuff. I’d be surprised if we get in before sunrise.”

Before long, soft, steady breathing fills the room. He clearly doesn’t need to tell Jisung twice.

Changbin hops up onto the window sill, keeping one leg inside the apartment and swinging the other over the ledge so that it dangles above the street. He glances down at Jisung, still sprawled across the floor, his hands clasped on his lower stomach as it slowly rises and falls.

Having thought back on it a lot over the past two years, Changbin has come to the conclusion that there are two reasons why he let Jisung work with him that evening in the alley. The first is the reason which he has convinced himself of, more or less successfully: he was bored as all hell with the street shows, and they weren’t bringing in much cash anyway. Jisung sold himself well, and he might bring about some excitement that Changbin had been longing for. And, though he would never admit it, Changbin isn't the kind of person who prefers to be by his lonesome.

His living had been made entirely by exploiting the amount of time it takes for the fast-paced city to forget small bouts of entertainment. Changbin wasn’t an idiot– the street show would probably be the highlight of someone’s hour, maybe their afternoon, and at best the highlight of their day. Within a week, each and every member of the mesmerized crowd would never think of Changbin again. He may have basked in his temporary glory as he captured the eyes of anyone who passed, but he knew his place when the spotlight faded out. To Changbin, the faces in the crowd were simply sitting ducks, too competent at being human for their own good.

So he learned to take advantage of this reliable humanity. He learned to entice with his eyes, undetectable to anyone, specifically his prey. He learned to conjure confidence, to employ it in order to cast spells upon hundreds at a time. He got them to focus only on what he wanted them to focus on, they never caught on to the crimes he committed just centimeters into their peripherals. It was incredible. Changbin may have been dirt poor, but for a moment in time he held the power. Power, unfortunately, that did not translate into money. Changbin really, really wants to be rich.

The second reason why Changbin let Jisung join him, however, has been filed away deep in his mind. Jisung was – _is_ – probably the most beautiful person Changbin has seen in his entire life.

Changbin first noticed Jisung in the crowd a few months before that first conversation. It was the end of the show, and as the crowd whooped and hollered, Changbin caught the eyes of a boy in the jubilant audience. Instantly, the golden brooch that sat in his front right pocket, nicked from a woman’s dress just moments before, felt as if it had been turned to lead. The boy knew, and the realization had been a slap in the face. When the crowd’s eyes shot to the sky, Jisung’s stayed unflinchingly trained on Changbin. With a glance, Jisung had ripped Changbin open, tore him off his pedestal and looked right through him. His gaze made Changbin feel as though he could hide nothing from this boy. Convenient for a man whose entire life and living relied on tricking the human brain, on forcing illusion to work to his advantage. As effortlessly as taking a breath, it seemed, a boy had sidestepped Changbin’s barrier. A boy who's _smart_ , as Changbin has come to learn. The man is downright hilarious, he instinctively knows when to crack a joke, to lighten the atmosphere, to gain people's trust without sacrificing an ounce of dignity. Jisung's face certainly helps his cause– Changbin's sure that his friend could crack a smile in a thunderstorm and the clouds would part, surrendering to him. 

Though he couldn’t have known it when Jisung approached him in the alleyway two years ago, Changbin has also come to learn that the pair compliment each other almost flawlessly. Changbin likes to think that he manages to steer Jisung away from the direction of dangerous impulsivity, to the extent that it’s possible to do so, and yet he finds himself at the same time _living_ a little more with Jisung. Jisung makes it easier to say “fuck it,” to do things simply for the hell of doing them. Changbin keeps the two in perspective, and Jisung has allowed him to realize that not every little thing has to be done for the sake of working towards their goals. They do what they need to do to get by, _maybe_ ignore the law a bit, and for the most part, the two have fun.

It’s possible, of course, though he’d never admit it aloud, that Changbin gives himself a bit too much credit on the front of taming his best friend. Sure, he’d like to say that he keeps their collective head screwed on to the best of his ability, but at the same time Changbin is pretty positive that he would abandon absolutely everything for Jisung. Once in a while, he gets the daunting feeling that Jisung knows this; that he _knows_ how weak Changbin is in times when it matters most, how willing he is to follow Jisung into oblivion, if that’s what it takes. It’s something about those eyes, that smile, that makes him a sailor, and Jisung the siren. It’s dangerous. He knows it is. And yet, he sails on, because that’s what he’s good at, what they’re both good at. Continuing on.

So sure, Changbin would like to think that he’s done a pretty thorough job of removing this childish crush from his thoughts over the last few years. But the task isn’t so easy when the morning sunlight dances through the window Changbin’s perched on, painting Jisung’s soft features golden as he dozes.

☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼

The air is buzzing with energy as Changbin and Jisung navigate their way through the tight cobblestone streets that night. Jisungs hugs in close to Changbin, his thumb and forefinger loosely grasping at the elbow of Changbin’s blouse so as not to lose him in the dense crowd, which only grows denser as the two near their destination.

Jisung keeps his face focused and tough. He’s not the scared teenager he used to be anymore, and tonight is the kind of night that can make anyone feel attractive and confident. He can feel his excitement building as they near the Golden Ticket.

Changbin finally stops to his left, and Jisung digs a piece of parchment from his breast pocket, handing it to a guard stationed outside the door to the club. Changbin does the same. The man promptly strikes a match, catching the tip of each of the slips of paper in the flame. Jisung sees it for half a second– the dark “S” miraculously scrawled onto each of the cards, before the guard nods and lets the slips fall to the street. He stamps out the light with his boot, and leads the duo inside.

If it weren’t for the mass of people queued in the alley, each with the fanciful hope of getting into the Golden Ticket on one of the busiest nights of the year, the club would actually be pretty unassuming. Lighting is dim as Jisung follows Changbin down the dank entry hallway, slightly ducking their heads under a doorframe before the room completely opens up, revealing its hidden grandiosity.

Massive columns stand firm at each corner of the room. People line up along every inch of the stone walls, with flushed faces and loud laughter. At the near end of the room stands a long bar, flanked by a pair of armored knight statues, for the ambience, Jisung believes. On either far side of the space, across the sea of people, two grand staircases make their way up to the balcony, atop which sits the Champion’s Table, at which Changbin and Jisung will soon join the eager gamblers as late night becomes early morning. Each person shouts over their neighbor, over the clink and clank of shot glasses and toasts being made, over the stomping of dancing feet, over the roar of the music. The _music_. On a small platform across the room stands a fabulous woman, who wears nine rings to warm all but the finger named for them, conspicuous makeup to paint her sculpture-like features, obnoxious earrings dangling to her shoulders, and an ostentatious golden coat, cascading down the backs of her calves and into the home base of a band behind her. The woman's voice is as sleek as her robes. It seems to be a miracle that the crew can hear each other over the din, let alone keep track of the quick tempo and engage the rowdy dancers as they scream into their instruments.

Jisung lets go of his relaxed grip on Changbin, feeling the energy within him surge, every part of his body dripping with newfound anticipation. He steps closer, bringing his lips to the lobe of Changbin’s ear.

“We can’t dance?” Jisung yells, straining to be heard over the noise. Changbin takes a step back, looking him in the eyes for a moment, before frowning.

“Not even one song?” Jisung pouts. But he laughs brightly when Changbin falters, opting to squeeze his friend's hand instead. Changbin is right anyways, the plan always takes priority over the party, as much as Jisung wishes in the present that the two were swapped. They part ways, and are instantly swallowed whole by the rapid current of the crowd.

A few hours later, Jisung feels sharp and sober. He thinks it must be nearing three in the morning, but there isn’t an ounce of sleepiness in his bones. He sits at one end of the Champion’s Table, hands steepled and eyes laser-focused. On the end opposite him sits Changbin, his expression like stone as he peeks cautiously at his cards.

The Champion’s Table is situated on the high balcony overlooking the wide floor of the pub. By now, most of the partygoers have cleared out, but a few very intoxicated stragglers still slide around the room, moving to the steady tune of the poor pianist and violinist closing out the night, as the band from before, along with the glamorous woman, have long gone. While the night is coming to a close on the floor, tensions are only building on the gambling balcony. Jisung and Changbin have been doing pretty well tonight, due almost entirely to the fact that they are the only sober people left of all the players and onlookers. Besides, no one knows that the pair know each other, let alone the fact that they're working together.

Their joint mastery and employment of every sleight-of-hand trick possible in the complicated game has certainly helped, too. The dealer passed out an hour ago, and Changbin and Jisung haven’t strayed _all_ that far from their roots.

Jisung glimpses at the burly man to his right, whose face has grown so crimson that Jisung thinks he might catch on fire any moment now. The man chokes back a menacing swig from his stein, and Jisung has to forcibly suppress his disgust. Changbin raises his eyebrows, and places two cards face-up on the table– the ace of hearts and the ace of diamonds. The large man’s nostrils flare, and he furiously throws the jug of whatever vile liquid is in his hand off the balcony. It smashes against a far wall, raining shards of glass and alcohol onto a young footman. Changbin has won the round, and Jisung internally cheers as piles of coins and jewelry are pushed towards the far end of the table. Changbin sits back in his chair, relaxing his shoulders and looking around the table.

“Well?” He prompts. “It seems that most of your pockets are empty. What do you say?” Jisung looks around. Getting four angry men to surrender to a cocky young boy is always the most challenging part of these nights. Jisung looks down over the railing into the now deserted club. The audience around the six-man card table, however, has grown. Sweaty people are packed into the balcony, hovering over the gamblers, eagerly awaiting the verdict.

The man to Jisung’s left falls over in his drunkenness in a slow-motion fashion, taking his chair down with him. As they crash to the floor, the dense crowd exclaims in the thrill, inhaling the drama of the tense atmosphere. Opponent one eliminated. No one at the table bats an eye.

The red-faced man to Jisung’s right, by whom the beer glass had been chucked not a minute prior, now abruptly stands, slamming his fists into the table. Jisung glances at Changbin, whose eyes have grown dangerous.

“I’ll ante with these!” the pig-like man bellows, promptly plucking his two slobbery canine teeth from the depths of his grotesque mouth. They roll to the center of the table, and Jisung notices that they are, in fact, made of solid gold.

“Fine, then,” sighs Changbin, who, in his succession of (albeit, cheated) victories, has become the unofficial Czar of the game after the official one keeled over. He chucks two gold coins from his large stack to the center of the table as well, to match the ante. Jisung decides to forfeit his own hand, along with two other conscious players (and the one unconscious, naturally), leaving Changbin, practically swimming in gold, against the colossal, angry, penniless man.

“So you've anted. What will you bet with?” Changbin dares to ask. This Changbin fascinates Jisung. This is the same Changbin whom Jisung admired two years prior, whom he nervously asked to join. To let him in and teach him how to turn heads. Jisung feels like he's back in that audience.

“I'll bet with this,” grunts the seething man, after both have glanced at their cards. From a flap pocket on the inside of his coat emerges a folded piece of thick paper. Changbin begins to roll his eyes, but Jisung is intrigued, and shoots his friend a silencing glance. Upon unfolding it and laying it out across the table, Jisung comes to see that it’s a map. Stunningly intricate, the thick parchment almost seems to glow in the dim light of the balcony. Jisung notices, however, it’s different from maps he’s used to. Rather than outlining a land mass, it seems to highlight landmarks, landmarks that scream of antiquity and mystery, all leading up to what looks like a stack of gold, but upon closer inspection the gold appears to be monuments and buildings making up a shining city. It pulls Jisung in, and he looks across the table at a pensive Changbin, as the large man gruffly explains that he traded it from a starved-looking sailor.

Jisung wants that map. This could be it. If it's real, the adventure of a lifetime. They've made it thus far, they can surely cheat their way through one final round. 

He tries to throw his absolute best puppy-dog face at his friend, while careful to not let slip their partnership to anyone observing. Jisung watches the cogs turn in Changbin’s mind, watches him weigh the pros and cons, then finally give in. Jisung smirks and sits back in his chair, satisfied. Changbin has always had a hard time saying no to him.

“Well, then,” Changbin begins the classic speech. It’s one that Jisung has both given and heard many times. “As it’s the final round, neither of us should deal; that would simply not be fair. I mean no disrespect, sir,” he turns to his fellow competitor, “but how am I to trust you at such high stakes? And you, me, in all fairness? I propose we elect an outside party… one of the forfeits! How about you, sir?” He motions to Jisung. “You seem sober enough, eh?” The crowd chuckles.

“Me? Why, it would be my honor.” Jisung responds. “So long as the opponent complies…?” he prompts the sanguine man, who lowly provides a grunt and a wave of his hand, giving the go-ahead.

“Very well,” says Changbin. Now, the two can begin to really play it up, to put on a show for the wide-eyed crowd. They're all far too drunk to notice the exaggerated gestures, the overly eloquent tongue.

Changbin is playing a fantastic hand for their final round, what with Jisung slyly manipulating the deck to his cohort’s advantage, and to their adversary’s miserable disadvantage. Jisung is keeping track of the red-faced man’s lineup, and he thinks he has really outdone himself this time. Jisung reminds himself to gloat to Changbin some when they get home. He moves to feed Changbin a card, one that he’s made sure will determine his final victory… when the card catches on his sleeve, ever so slightly snagging the real card he should be giving to Changbin, were they playing fair. His breath hitches, but he forces himself to continue to move fluidly through his slip-up, praying that no one caught his stunt.

He’s not so lucky, however.

“I knew it!” shouts the shrill voice of a woman in the audience. “The dealer is feeding the winning player the good cards! They’ve been working together!” A collective gasp sounds from the crowd. Changbin and Jisung freeze. Jisung's stomach drops to the floor.

Shit.

“I thought so too! There’s no way a boy like him could win round after round!” sounds another slurred voice from the mass of people. The world almost crumbles before Jisung’s eyes, as person after person shouts an angry accusation against him and Changbin. Worst of all is the knowledge that Jisung is sure that none of these people, save for the one woman who lit the fuse, has actually noticed anything suspicious. Jisung admits, this is indeed the fault in trying to deceive a drunk audience that's hungry for drama, and lives to spur it on.

Jisung isn’t feeling so great about their odds on this one. They're certainly privy to the fact that what they're doing is illegal, and if they’re caught by city forces, Jisung would be surprised to serve any less than two years in prison, especially considering their unfortunate class standing. The realization leaves only one option: to get the audience back on their side. Because what the people truly want isn’t the law, or mere niceties, or one man to easily take home the night's winnings. They want a show.

If nothing else, Changbin and Jisung know how to put on a show.

Changbin slowly stands to face Jisung. The crowd is engulfed in anticipatory silence. Ever so slightly, as a secret told solely to Jisung, Changbin nods. He takes a breath, rolls his shoulders back, then pounds a threatening fist into the table, startling everyone but Jisung.

They were _so close_ to getting away with it. Has it really come to this? Jisung supposes so.

“YOU!” snarls Changbin, paired with a finger jabbing hard into Jisung’s chest. Jisung has to bite back his laughter. _Don’t blow this, too._ “You’ve been trying to set me up, huh? A bit of a sore loser, thought you’d dirty my victories, my _honor_! Very clever. A slip of the hand, make it seem as if I’m associated with you– YOU! HAH! As _if_ I'd _ever_ associate myself with a fucking street rat!”

“ _Street rat?_ ” sneers Jisung, giving Changbin a taunting shove in retaliation. Jisung looks into the huddled crowd, and moves to jump up onto the balcony railing past Changbin. Leaning arrogantly against a sturdy column, he’s both created an adequate stage for himself and given his friend a perfect opening...

Distractions.

“You don't think, just for a second,” Jisung starts, glowering down to where Changbin stands, “that your unwavering success thus far has been a bit suspicious? Shit… you must have been afraid someone might call you out on your _own_ cheating! But you’re just too good, huh? So employ the young, helpless, vulnerable little _street rat_ to deal your cards, just in case things begin to go downhill, and you’ll have a scapegoat, packaged perfectly with a bow!” Jisung barks a laugh. “I should have known from the beginning you were up to no good.”

Changbin jumps up onto the table, so he now stands level with Jisung. Their heads almost touch the ceiling. Jisung chances a glance at the woman who ratted them out, and happily notices her confused but interested countenance. The crowd is fully captivated by the scene in front of them.

“Classic move,” growls Changbin. “What a shame, I can’t help the fact that I have the skills it takes to win. And you? Well, it seems you’ve even managed to fail at _cheating_ a fucking victory to your sorry name!” To punctuate his words, Changbin lifts a leg, thrusting a savage kick to the middle of Jisung’s chest, which sends him flying off the balcony railing. As he falls backwards, Jisung happily notices that the crowd’s gasp grows louder than it has at any point that night.

Suspense, and…

Boom! Jisung lands heavily, crouched and on his feet on the floor of the club. Changbin swiftly follows him to the lower level, by way of the staircase banister. The people upstairs have filled in the space Changbin and Jisung left; they press against the upper railing, eager to get a look at the fantastic display below.

On his way down, Changbin stops at the suit of armor positioned to the left of the grand bar area. From the faux knight’s side, he unsheathes a stiff-looking sword, and carefully inspects it, running a provoking finger along the blade. Now Jisung _really_ struggles to keep his laughter at bay. If their entire audience weren’t wasted as all hell, Jisung genuinely hopes that at least _some_ of them would have enough of a brain to notice how clunky and ridiculous the sword is. But indeed, anything for the show. Jisung dashes to the suit of armor on the opposite side of the bar, now wielding his own sword to match that of his friend. Jisung advances toward Changbin, pushing him towards the center of the expansive room.

“Well, any final words?” sneers Changbin, making sure he’s loud enough for the balcony to hear.

“I will cut you to ribbons,” Jisung scowls, a hint of a grin on his lips. 

The two begin to almost comically circle each other, before Jisung sharply lunges at Changbin ( _“Aha!”_ ), who doesn’t hesitate to retaliate. Thus ensues their frantically exciting duel, both fighting to be on the offensive. The grand pub room is alive once again, amidst the shouts and taunts thrown between the combatants ( _“Fool!” shouts Jisung. “Such mediocrity,” replies Changbin_ ), the thrilled cries from the balcony audience, and the polished clank of the swords as they furiously grapple. Jisung doesn’t even try to conceal his smug grin from his opponent, as he begins to push him around the room, forcing Changbin on defense. Jisung quickens his jabs, and moves his feet to sync with a fast-paced rhythm in his mind ( _“Heathen! Let your sword speak for itself!”_ ). His flow is cut short, however, when Changbin manages an effective parry against him, quickly turning the tide of their fight with the successful defensive maneuver.

“Ha! Take that!”

The crowd is up in arms, egging on the duel.

Jisung retreats a few paces, and they pause to stare at each other, each silently daring the other to make the first move. It’s Jisung who does, and Changbin who takes advantage of his split-second vulnerability, aiming to corner him against the bar at the end of the room. Changbin sends a nimble jab towards Jisung, narrowly missing the side of his torso ( _“You fight like my sister!”_ ). Jisung carefully keeps light-footed ( _“I fought your sister! That’s a compliment!”_ ), as he allows Changbin to drive him backwards with quick strides and meticulous attacks.

Suddenly, Changbin swings his sword at Jisung with a loud outcry, but Jisung manages to maneuver the oncoming threat to his opposite hip, throwing Changbin forward. With a grunt, Jisung digs his shoulder into Changbin’s chest, heaving his opponent's feet off the ground to swiftly send the small but muscular man hurdling to the dusty floorboards. He does so in such a manner, however, that allows Changbin the momentum to roll his back across the deck and fling himself onto his feet, with his back against the wall farthest from the balcony. Jisung spins to face Changbin, knocking his sword from his hand and sending it flying across the room to a mixture of cheers and boos from above. He presses the flat end of his sword against Changbin’s collarbone, the weight of his body holding Changbin in place against the hard stone of the wall, a knee between his thighs. The two are practically nose to nose, breathing heavily in the aftermath of their extravagant stunt.

Jisung catches something in Changbin’s eyes, a fleeting shift that he can't put his finger on. A bead of sweat falls from his forehead.

Changbin averts his eyes, and Jisung is brought back to the present. He detaches himself from Changbin’s frame, and turns to the stunned crowd.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve decided it’s a draw!” Jisung proclaims.

“Thank you all for coming, you’ve been great, see you soon!” Changbin declares, regaining his senses, and eyeing the entryway to their right. An urging, increasingly frantic push from Jisung finally moves the two down the musky entry hall.

At last, they burst out into the now barren street. The sun will rise within the hour, so thankfully it is no longer pitch dark outside, but rather the city is slowly beginning to stir. Jisung feels electrified as ever. He picks some dust off of his shoulders and shivers in the drastic temperature change. Everything is still. Waiting.

“Nice earrings, Ji,” quips Changbin.

“Thanks. Snagged a few things from your pile in there. Should have been just a little more perceptive; maybe you would have noticed,” he smirks. He feels expensive in these earrings. They’re crafted of heavy gold, yet Jisung curiously feels lighter than a feather as they dangle near his shoulders. He notices a corner of thick parchment paper sticking out of Changbin's pocket. On it, a golden city. 

Changbin takes a slow breath, inhaling the brisk morning air. The faint clamor of confusion spilling from the club door behind them is steadily getting louder, closer. It seems that they've caught on to the trick back inside. Jisung looks at Changbin, who stares right back. Jisung smiles wide, his eyes disappearing, and Changbin can’t help but smile in return.

“We’re in some deep shit, Binnie.”

With that, Changbin wastes no more time. He grabs Jisung’s hand, and they take off, sprinting down the alley. They round the first corner they come across, hearing a drunken outcry of _There they go!_ and _After them!_ back from the direction of the pub. Jisung feels like he’s flying with his hand firmly enclosed in Changbin’s, and the chase is officially on.

Jisung’s feet pound against the cobblestone streets, pure adrenaline coursing through his body, and he throws his head back in euphoric laughter. This is the adventure he’s longed for, and he finds that he’s never felt more free. They’re soaring through the narrow roads, being hunted by a pack of drunkards, and yet this is the moment in time that Jisung thinks he would like to save forever in a little memory bottle, to be able to feel this pure exhilaration for the rest of his life.

Up ahead, no more than half a block down the street, two wooden ladders climb up the sides of the two-story buildings, lending access to rooftops on either side of Changbin and Jisung. About a half-mile down, the narrow street is cut off by the grand cliffside avenue, overlooking the harbor and the vast sea. Jisung has a wonderful idea.

“Bet I can beat you to the end of the roadway, but from up there,” Jisung grins, motioning to the ladders leading up to the roofs. Changbin’s eyes ignite.

“Five gold pieces, you’re on.”

At that, Jisung picks up the pace, before veering off to the right and clambering up the rickety ladder. He’s almost surprised it doesn’t crumble under him as he does so, but three seconds sees him emerging on the top of the roof, looking out into the distance as light begins to surface on the wide eastern sea ahead. The view is truly breathtaking, but Jisung has a bet to win, glory to chase. And so he’s off. He leaps across rooftop balconies, ducks under laundry that’s been set out to dry, and launches himself through the air to touch down on the next apartment. Jisung feels invincible.

The clamor of their pursuers has not resigned in the slightest, however. If anything, their number has grown. Jisung thinks they must be waking up everyone within a three-street radius with their warlike cries. A granny has stepped out onto her humble second-story balcony just ahead of Changbin in a robe and hair curlers. She first cranes her neck to curse at Jisung, then whips around to curse at Changbin. As the two whizz by on either side of the street, they hear her turn to vituperate the drunken mob, exclaiming that _it’s four-thirty in the goddamn morning!_ and _they might as well just march right on into her apartment banging pots and pans together, then!_

All too quickly, Jisung arrives at the end of the buildings. A quick glance to his left confirms that he’s beat Changbin to their finish line by a second, if that. Changbin catches his eye and playfully scowls, before disappearing off the side of the building with a taunting wave. Jisung rapidly scopes out his own route to the ground below. From the roof, Jisung jumps onto a convenient second-story balcony, then gracefully swings over the railing to land precariously on the thin lip of a tall wooden vat of tangerines, before touching down onto the pavement.

Now they’re in a bit of a bind, Jisung notes. The cliffside promenade is broad, and the lack of people out and about due to the time of day would make it near impossible for Changbin and Jisung to lose the crowd. Their best bet would probably be–

“The ports,” Changbin pants. Jisung nods, and is almost about to speak before he’s cut off by the loud crack of a whip from a ways down the boulevard. Quickly materializing in the distance are two men on sturdy horses, hooves rumbling against the stone underneath them.

 _Shit._ All the ruckus had gotten the authorities involved. Changbin and Jisung need to move fast. They dash across the wide open road, sprinting towards the coastal cliffside. There’s a mutual understanding between the two that finding a staircase or carriage ramp down to the harbor would be impossible with their timing; they’d get caught in an instant. Jisung struggles to come up with a plan, and Changbin doesn’t seem to be faring much better.

They come to a halt at the edge of the cliff. The commotion of the rowdy pursuers, the galloping horses and screaming policemen, and angry shopkeepers having been awoken from their slumber all grow louder and louder in Jisung’s mind. He feels as if they’re consuming him. This was supposed to be his wild adventure. It _can’t_ end here. Not like this.

Suddenly, all the noise seems to halt, and Jisung notices two massive barrels of uncooked white rice directly below them on the port grounds. It’s worth a shot, right?

Jisung looks at Changbin. He’s seen them too.

“I’ll bet we can make that,” Jisung declares.

“Seven gold pieces says we can’t!” Changbin retorts, as he takes a careful step back. In unison, Changbin and Jisung launch themselves from the cliff's edge, _falling, falling, falling_ into the much busier port area down below.

With a satisfying _whump_ , the two collapse square into their separate vessels of rice. The landing was better than Jisung expected, and he quickly moves to cover his body in the rice, hiding himself as best as he can.

“Changbin? You there?” Jisung whisper-shouts. He’s not sure if there’s any port-boys or sailors around, but it wouldn’t be shocking. The boats leave every morning just after sunrise, so the harbor is generally hustling and bustling far before the rest of the city.

“Yeah, I’m here.”

“Good, because you’re twelve pieces indebted to me now,” Jisung laughs. Changbin starts to laugh with him, the absurdity of their night just now sinking in. Jisung’s cheeks begin to burn from laughing, and Changbin has to tearfully tell him to stop before both of them choke on uncooked rice.

**Author's Note:**

> That's all for now! We'll get a bit more... action... with Changbin and Jisung next chapter, and Hyunjin's story has only just begun. You'll be seeing much more of him soon!
> 
> idk how many people will read this, but kudos and comments would make my day, if you'd like to leave them!! :)) 
> 
> Constructive criticism is also wholly appreciated; I'm editing this myself so feel free to lmk if you catch any grammatical mistakes, or if you'd like me to clarify something in the comments! I'd be happy to do so without spoiling ;)))
> 
> If you have seen The Road to El Dorado, you've most likely come to understand how the characters line up. Hyunjin as Chel, and for whom I'm creating his own backstory, Jisung as Miguel (roughly), and Changbin as Tulio (again, roughly). You also might have noticed that I took much of the dialogue in the sword fight scene straight from the movie, despite the fact that I put Changbin and Jisung in a very different situation than that of Miguel and Tulio. We're talking about a pixar movie here lol. While much of this work is original (based around the larger movie plot, of course), I'll for sure be letting you guys know when I extract stuff directly from the film.
> 
> Again, MOST IMPORTANTLY: Here is a carrd link that lays out petitions, places to donate, and people to call to support the Black Lives Matter movement. Don't feel bad if you can't donate, but signing a petition takes little to no time, so I really encourage you to do so. This issue extends far past the "trend" of Black Lives Matter. These are real people and real problems that are far more important than fanfiction.
> 
> >>>>> https://blacklivesmatters.carrd.co/ <<<<<
> 
> final note: I am NOT black, and I'm trying to be a better ally every day. If you are black and something I have said offends you or doesn't sit right with you, PLEASE let me know in the comments. I promise to listen, and I encourage other non-black people to listen as well.


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